PS 3545 
.A863 D5 

1922 




'(.V ■' \l') 



m 



iP'T!, 









'•*>.,«- .-^^v \/ .•^% \,** 













*""' %•.**" ••^K- ^^^^^^ 'Mix %/ 




5? "tfO 








o t- 













^^•v. -. 



--V*- ^-^ 













'^^'^ !*jaS: "'^^^9'^' -^^IS^^: ^-^v-^^' ^'^H^': ^'^^'^^' 




























0^ -SUt^- ^oV^ »<»^^ll^- -^^.OC 














DIVINE FIRE 

And Other Poems 

EVELYN M. WATSON 



DIVINE FIRE 



And Other Poems 



BT 



EVELYN M. WATSON 




Publiahtn 



DORRANCE Philadelphia 



COPYRIGHT 1922 
DORRANCE ft COMPANY, INC. 






^^ 



\^ 



^ 



•^ 



NOlZ-j (922 

©Ci.A686587 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



'>^ 



Dedicated 
with appreciation to 
Mr. Howard Hillis 



Acknowledgment is made to several magazines, 
including: Contemporary Verse, Continent, Peoples* 
Popular Monthly, Keith's and others. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Divine Fire 11 

The Poet 12 

Protection 12 

From a Hospital 13 

The Flamen 14 

The Builder 15 

The Apprentice 16 

Phenomenon 16 

A Classic Frieze 17 

The Youth and the Shell 18 

The Lark 19 

A-Sunomering 20 

In Her Scripter Picter Teacup 21 

The Poplar 22 

The Rose of Sharon Tree 22 

Adoration 23 

To a Nun 23 

First Confession 24 

The Crocus 25 

The Inward Urge 26 

Courage 27 

Mother : Her Voice, Her Smile 27 

Lace 28 

The Good, the True, the Beautiful 29 

Eternal Record 30 

Summer Sunset 31 

To a Butterfly 32 

To a Spider 33 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Corn Song 34 

To a Shawl Pattern 35 

Progression 36 

Moods by a New England Lake 37 

Pirates 39 

Wild Teazle 40 

The Storm 41 

Spring 43 

Summer 44 

Bronze Belief 45 

Virile Winter 45 

Dante 46 

Chimes of St. Paul's 47 

Marching Home 48 

The Motherhood of God 50 

Milton 50 

"Shipmates'* 51 

Answered 52 

The Cup of Bitterness 54 

The Bringer-Forth 55 

The Nightman 56 

Reincarnation f 57 

To Mona Out of Work 58 

United 59 

Druids 59 

Seek Not Afar 60 



DIVINE FIRE 

And Other Poems 



Divine Fire and Other Poems 



DIVINE FIRE 

Living green of grasses, olive glint of trees, 
Oriflammes of iris quivering to the breeze. 

Tulip braziers smouldering, dandelions' spark, 
Rosebush candles lighted against the smoky dark. 

Gas-like gleam of balsam, electric flare of phlox, 
Poppy torches blowing, illumined four-o 'clocks. 

Cosmos stars a-twinkling, too beautiful to name, 
Nasturtium blossoms bursting into tongues of 
flame ; 

Violet blaze of clematis pushing 'gainst the door. 
Fields a-surge with clover, hill and valley o 'er. 

Chrysanthemums a-tossing balls of magic fire. 
Ember-glow of zinnias and dahlias to admire. 

Sunflower censers swaying, thistle lamps turned 

low. 
Hollyhocks unflaming, flashing goldenglow. 

Forest fires in autumn, as leaves their colors turn ; 
Kindled fields of asters where goldenrod torches 
now bum. 

Living colors moving under Heaven *s flame — 
The Burning Bush revealing. His fiery truths 
proclaim I 

11 



12 DIVINE FIEE 



THE POET 



The restless waves of the laboring sea 

Are never quite so wild 
As the ceaseless tides that have travailed in me 

Since I was only a child. 
The awesome heights of mountain peaks 

Are never half as high 
As the mountain of hopes that ever seeks 

To pierce the Spirit ^s sky. 
Your roaring rivers are not so fast 

As rivers of thoughts that flow, 
And storms and calms and shuddering blast 

Are less than the ones I know 
Within my Soul — in the Spirit of me — 

The trumpeting storms and furious fires ! 
What know you of rivers and winds and sea, 

And sun-loved mountain spires! 



PROTECTION 

Dewdrops sleep in violet eyes, 

Guarding the violets, sway the ferns ; 
Above the ferns the birches rise. 
Above the birches glow far skies. 
And over all God, watching, yeame. 



AND OTHER POEMS 13 



FROM A HOSPITAL 

And what may you bring to make my long day 
glad? 

Not food to feed my fevered discontent, 
Nor any goods nor gear that may be had — 

Bring now fair stars of Spirit's firmament! 

Of little grasses tell, in artless green, 
Of mosses where abide wee living things — 

Bring memories of silvery ponds between 
Giant arching trees where lichen clings. 

Bring fringy asters, gold and mystic blue, 
Bring weeds we know, that carpet forest floors, 

Bring twinkling leaves from larch and poplar, 
too — 
Bring me the living breath of all Outdoors ! 

And, best of all, dare now to come to me, 
Empty of hand, your soul a flowing well, 

Then let me drink my fill, and help me see 
The magic world of which you came to tell ! 



14 DIVINE FIRE 



THE FLAMEN 

Out in the dark my mother went, 

Out in the night where death-winds blow, 
And gathered me against her breast : 
Into my form her form was spent, 
Into my heart her heart's rich glow, 
Into my body her best. Love's best. 

This Temple she built for the flickering flame, 
This House I live in day by day — 
She gave my body to me. 
i'rom night she drew my star-traced name, 
From day she gathered my passion's play, 
Thus binding me fast, but free, so free ! 

And the Flamen God gave, creation-wise. 
As mine in my temple, * ' not built by hands * * — 
My soul, High Priestess there, 
"Whence, whence?" I cry with widening eyes — 
Her answer? My questioning heart under- 
stands : 
''Your soul, dear vestal, was mother's 
prayer ! ' ' 



AND OTHER POEMS 15 



THE BUILDER 

I stumble, an unskilled mason, over odd and 
shapeless stones, 
Over many blocks I cannot seem to use : 
It's thus I build the Temple — ruthless cast aside 
What seems as waste — and ever pick and 
choose. 

And yet these awkward pieces all come to find 
some place, 
And one by one into those places fall : 
So be it when my lifehood's noblest work is 
done — 
I'll find at last that I have used them all. 

The weird philosophies that seem to bother me. 

The theories I fail to understand, 
Give each a building block for me to work upon — 

The oft-rejected stone I last command. 

Upon the summit, the most-rejected Stone ^s a 
crown ; 
(Each theory has place within the whole — ) 
There is no waste, no loss and everything is 
strong — 
And thus I build the Temple of my Soul. 



16 DIVINE FIRE 



THE APPRENTICE 

I am a-building on the rocks of time, 
And do not have His Plan in view ; 
I know not what I build, nor seek to find — 
I have not yet attained a master mind. 
I've builded better than I know or knew, 
And what I build I fix, secure and true. 
Only the Master knows how well I work — 
And He will put me forward, turn me back; 
He knows what powers I have, what gifts I lack. 
And marks the many times I've sought to shirk. 
When I've attained to be a more-than-man 
Perhaps I'll know the Master's mighty Plan. 



PHENOMENON 

For every thousand birds that I have seen 
I've never seen a dozen birdies dead. 

Kind Nature hides them in her mantle green, 
For Nature has so very little said 

Concerning death, she quite forgets the scene. 
And vivid living things spring up, instead! 



AND OTHER POEMS 17 



A CLASSIC FRIEZE 

Blue-gray twilight — as from some classic frieze — 
Bright-faced children play, forgetful of coming 

Curfew, 
Their smocks and frocks, plain, stout-woven stuff, 
chiefly blue — 

Ring-a-round-the-rosy, 
Drop-the-handkerchief, 
London Bridge, London Bridge ! 
Against the cool, copperj'^-green and bronze-light- 
ed turf 
With blue tones strongly etched, the youngsters 

frolic ! 
The haze of evening veils all in tender tints. 

The Curfew! 
Frozen in posture, as one figure, silent, 
The children stand for a brief but colossal second. 
The curfew sounds ! Go call Delia Robbia ! 
A classic frieze ! Leonardo ! Come again ! 



THE YOUTH AND THE SHELL 

(To a Conch Shell in Grandfather's Parlor) 

A grove of pines, a crescent of sand, 
A sweep of green, sun-mottled sea. 
Above, an eagle's wheeling flight, 
Below, the breaker's maddened might — 
A pink-lipped shell brings these to me. 



18 DIVINE FIEE 

Through limy covers, curled and turned, 
I learn the lore of the magic sea; 
In mystic chambers, color-spanned, 
I find a little world full-planned — 
Thou ear, thou voice, thou mystery ! 

Long lines of coast in dull, dead black — 
And inky black lies the lapping sea^ — 
See! Morning fleets 'mid sun-traced hours, 
Fisher villas with clustering towers I 
These pass. A pink pearl shell for me. 

Blue sky, blue sea, a few white sails, 
A fluttering bird above the lea — 
Is the murmuring voice from out the deep 
The promise of One who watch will keep? 
listening ear, I question thee. 

In far, dark channels of waters cold. 
The stillest deeps of the stillest sea. 
Where star-things crawl in waterj'' night, 
And flower-things mutely crave the light, 
Afar in thy pinkish whorl I see. 

What dweller made thee for his home? 
What chastening set that rainbow free ? 
What foamy wave-crest bore thee up 1 
What sandy waters filled thy cup? 
What sailor found and cherished thee? 

A cup, a cave, a voice, an ear, 

A rainbow world art thou to me. 

Does my heart grow great in the sea of souls ? 

In the flood and flow that over me rolls 

Do I find the colors and set them free? 



AND OTHER POEMS 19 



THE LARK 

The lark, untutored, trills her song, her rapture 

through it thrills, 
And not a note is sounded wrong that echoes to 

the hills; 
A golden, glowing melody, it bursts upon the air, 
And comes in flowing floods to me, who listen in 

despair. 
It rises, tides and ebbs to measure — it hangs 

suspended, falls — 
It rings and sings and echoes pleasure and rides 

the aiiy halls. 
It arches, flashes, breaks and mends, then curves, 

a rainbow clear — 
A thousand perfect sounds it blends — it haunts 

the spirit's ear. 
I cannot tell about the lark, its wonder-song, its 

note — 
In some green-golden meadow hark and heed her 

bursting throat! 
In some woods-haunted, leafy bower surrender to 

her call, 
And learn that language has no power to bring 

such joy to all. 
Go now to Nature's Holy Land, and drink that 

precious song: 
The words a poet may command but do its singer 

wrong. 
The lark may sing her song for you — for you her 

notes rise free — 
I cannot make my song ring true — flic lark ivill 

laugh at me! 



20 DIVI^fE FIRE 

A-SUMMERING 

Not where castle ruins crown fair mounts 

Nor where gentle brooklets dimpling glide along, 

Not where feathery jets arise in sylvan founts 

To chide the broken marble rim with dreary 
song; _ 
Not where birds their orisons and vespers sing, 

Nor by the golden shore of happy inland sea, 
Nowhere could I, would I, spend my life, a-sum- 
mering, 

Except, my Garden Princess fair, a-lovering, 
Among thy roses, and with thee. 

Not where Fauns and Nymphs their frolics play. 

Nor where broad rivers broader meadows woo. 
Nor where bide the rich, the grave, the wise, the 
gay, 

Though there bright joys might rise to greet 
each day anew, 
Nor were I to possess the Genii's golden ring 

Unless, by magic charm 'twould bring to me 
All the happiness I have a-summering. 

Among thy roses, my Heart's Own, a-lovering, 
Among thy roses, and with thee. 

L 'Envoy 

Oh, thou Empress of my heart! Only to be with 
thee! 
Let bards of other lands their wildest praises 
sing, 
Sing of their sparkling isles and smiling sea, 
Only let me sing the happiness I have a-sum- 
mering. 
Among thy roses, and with thee. 



AND OTHER POEMS 21 



IN HER SCRIPTER PICTER TEACUP 

(An Old Woman in a "Home" Speaks) 

I^m homesick, I guess — I don^t like the pie — 
The meat ain't so tasty, and the tea is like lye; 
I ain't fond of 'taties and I ain't fond of ham — 
The bread is too crusty and they's glass in the 

jam! 

I wisht I had some good strong tea. 
Brewed for me — 

I wisht I had some good black tea. 
All served up 

In my Scripter Picter teacup! 

Your cake is store-bought — your 'lasses is strong : 
They ain 't any buns for ever so long. 
I don't like 'em anywafys — they're harder 'n rocks : 
And I don't like them crackers as come in a box! 
I -wisht I had some right peart tea 

Brewed for me — 
I wisht I had some right peart tea 

All served up 
In my Scripter Picter teacup! 

The dumplins is soggy — the puddin' ain't there — 
I 'm so lonely for home I just do not care : 
My head's in a whirl, my hearths in a knot: 
Oh, give me some tea both savory and hot — 

Some good, ol '-fashioned, pure black tea, 

Brewed for me! 
Mostly for me, and then served up 
In my Scripter Picter teacup I 



22 DIVINE FIKE 



THE POPLAR 

Many trees I love, because 

The soft green leaves are cool and sweet, 
But there is one I care for most — 

The poplar tree across the street. 

It stands up high above us all. 

Stately and straight 'mong other trees, 
Its twinkling leaves like whirring wings 

Of crowded, murmuring bees. 

The cars go up, the cars go down 
And people pass, a noisy throng. 

But straight and true the poplar stands, 
So gentle, yet so strong. 

It 'minds me fair of country lanes — 
Brings whole green worlds to me, 

And I who strain at city bonds 
Look up to find me free. 



THE ROSE OF SHARON TREE 

The Rose of Sharon tree is full in bloom, 

For many days its candle lights are here, 
Then Time its fleeting glory shall entomb — 

It will not shine again for one long year. 
Lift up your hearts and challenge selfish gloom. 

Like flowers our many messages appear, 
Nor shall I point a single moral ou1>— 

Go ask the tree what things to think about! 



AND OTHER POEMS 23 



ADORATION 

Imperial liills on every side: 
Smi-swept lakes and surging seas, 
Mighty rivers, that regally ride — 
Wild, mad winds or gentle breeze. 
Streams that stray by shadowy trees. 
Birds that float on airy tide, 
Flowers that fleck the meadows wide, 
Stars that form the heavenly frieze! 

Ah, messenger who hold the keys 

Of loveliness, you tell us more. 

And preach one text to him who sees, 

Until he prays: ''Lord, such as these 

Lead me to Thee, for I adore 

Thy power through Nature's prophecies." 



TO A NUN 



Oh, cloistered soul of kindly love. 
Oh, heaven-born miracle of grace. 

Your every aspect speaks of good — 

Your robe, your rood, your radiant face I 

Pure princess of the holy church — 

And were you called to live for God, alone? 

To show man by your humble deeds 
That we are not, in truth, our own ? 



24 DIVlJ^E FIRE 

You did! not give to Him the dregs 
And lees of life you could not live ; 

You offered up in youth's sweet prime 
The best, the most you had to give. 

Fair sacrifice, I see you stand 

By the lucent blue of a lily-starred lake. 
Does nature move your heart to grief? 

"Ave Maria, for Jesu's sake!" 



FIRST CONFESSION 

The Abbe bent to the little maid ; 

She whispered low her plea. 
His voice was kind, "Go on, my child. 

The Father above loves thee." 

The wee one wept and silvery tears 

Fell across the quivering cheek — 
"I drank," she sobbed, "a kitty's milk." 

(She was poverty-pinched and weak.) 

The Abbe swung the confessional door 

And took the wee one up; 
His forgiving voice was to her soul 

As wine from the chancel cup. 

He raised his eyes as he blessed the child, 

And let his great voice free, 
"Dear God," he prayed, "may all our sins 

Be such as hers, dear Lord, to Thee." 



AND OTHER POEMS 25 

THE CROCUS 

Gold burst of flame from the steaming sod ! 

A fleeting flash from the morning smi ! 

A flush of light from the night skies won ! 
A flower! The thought, the word of God! 

Wee goblet aglow, in whose chalice lies 
A wine-gold dewdrop's sun-bright ray, 
A liquid flash from the Gem of day, 

Deep-dropped from the glowing, rapt blue skies! 

Mute spirit fair of growing things, 
But half disclosed, half unrevealed. 
Thy mystery from the world is sealed. 

Yet endless visions thy beauty brings. 

I love thee, flower, for truths untold — 
Thy grace is the gift of Grace Divine ! 
As the soul of man from his face doth shine, 

Thy soul shines forth from thy heart of gold. 

Sweet fairy flowers thy children are. 
While ours are thoughts and dreams as sweet; 
Thy children ever the sunlight greet. 

And ours the light of the Eastern Star. 

Sweet scripture, written in living grace. 
Eternal song of gay spring tides. 
The light of power that yet abides 

Gleams from thy star-gold heart, thy face ! 

Thou wert a fast-shut bud unfurled; 
I saw thee grow in purity — 
An AngePs touch wert thou to me, 

To me a glimpse of the unseen world. 



26 DIVfNE FIRE 

Gold bursts of flame from the steaming sod ! 

A chalice ! A voiceless fairy bell ! 

The golden trmnp of a Gabriel — 
Dear flower ! The thought, the word of God ! 



THE INWAED URGE 

The jealous, jeering crowds may press and surge 
And throw my very life in jeopardy, 

But I, who follow still the Inward Urge, 
Know well they cannot ever injure me! 

It flashes signals as I, troubled, go, 

It guards my darkest days of strain and strife. 
It makes my very soul, a-tingle, glow 

And flame again with pangs of quickening life. 

Again it warms, inspires my very soul, 
A light upon the mystic Inner Shrine, 

This Inward Urge, it keeps me pure and whole 
Till what I search and seek as mine — ^is mine. 

I cannot chide, no matter what the guise; 

It bums and bursts to guiding, warming flame. 
It makes my life's mysterious paradise 

Kaleidoscopic — never twice the same. 

Unfolding for me, never twice the same. 
With each step higher, holier than the last, 

The Inward Urge suggests the Master's name, 
A drop of wine from His divine repast. 



AND OTHER POEMS 27 



COURAGE 



The Courage of Thought is small, 
Next greater the Courage of Speech, 
Then the Courage of Deeds looms vast 
But courages three are not all — 
Greater than these, let us teach 
The Courage of Silence — the last. 



MOTHER 
7. Her Voice- 



It I could hear the opera birds 
In golden songs a thousand times, 
If I could have my dearest choice — 
I should prefer my mother's voice 
A-himiming childhood's simple rhymes, 
Or just her speaking, loving words. 
If I could have my dearest choice 
I'd let you keep your opera birds! 

77. 77er Smile 

There's something very sweet, indeed. 

About the way a mother smiles — 
You 'd think that she could hear and see 

Across a thousand miles. 
There 's wisdom in the way she does — 

She's like the wisest of the sages; 
And every day she seems to say, 

**I'm born of countless ages." 



28 DIVINE FIRE 

LACE 

(A Yard of Hand-Made Lace) 

Oh! Lace, the poem of a weaver's, craft, 

The poetry of a weaver's art, 

The song of the loom art thou ! 

The mysterie sprite 

Of dainty threads once danced, 

And leaped along its flowery course 

Till from the loom there came 

A filmy map of fairyland — 

Something to gaze on, 

Something to wear, 

Which we call lace. 

A half yard here — 

A bit o' web gossamer thin, 

A garland where posies 

Run out and in, 

Where ribbons laugh and play! 

Here a leaf, there a spray, 

A knot or two — some tiny squares, 

A rivulet of silky waterfalls — 

A spider's home, all woven true 

As any spider hopes to do, 

A dainty, foamy net of mesh — 

The length is cut . . . 

And this is the work of a toiler ! 
Handle it carefully, you careless child of ease, 
The concept came through ages and in pain. 
Like another poem, it is God-inspired, 
Like another poem, it has strayed from heaven, 
And like another poem to the careless world it's 
given. 



AND OTHER POEMS 29 



THE GOOD, THE TRUE, THE BEAUTIFUL 

And a good man shall be satisfied from himself — 
Proverbs 14, 14. 

Artist Nature ! A tree, a house, a hill — 
Look where you will — 

Perhaps the tree in middle-distance stands ; 

Perchance the hill, with thorn-edged meadow- 
lands ; 

Perhaps the house — it matters not — 

Art finds in life its place and plot. 

Beauty forever lives in Truth, 

And best the good man understands 

The tree, the house, the lift of meadow lands. 

The house, the tree, the sweep of meadowlands, 

God wisely plans — 
Through love man gains the gift to fully see. 
The power to grasp the rare identity 
Of Beauty, Truth, and Good. With Love 
Transcendent in his soul, he looks above 
Where his rapt vision may behold 
A heaven glowing in the affinity 
Of Truth and Beauty — in hill, and house, and tree ! 



30 DIVINE FIRE 



ETERNAL RECORD 

I am the record, of my days — 

No angel needs to write the tome; 
I carry marks of all my ways, 

My actions both abroad and home. 
I am the total of my deeds, 

Whether I act to bless or curse. 
My heart must be the one that bleeds — 

My spouse for better or for worse. 
I am the record of my life. 

No court clerk needs to pen a line ; 
I am the story of the strife. 

Of pleasure and pain that have been mine. 
You cannot sentence me to hell — 

You cannot raise my soul to heaven — 
Our God has ordered all things well 

And by His power my sins are shriven. 

He gives me strength to lift my heart. 
To chose the good and spurn the bad. 

He gives me choice — I take my part^ — 
Rejoice, my soul, and be ye glad! 



AND OTHER POEMS 31 



SUMMER SUNSET 

When children of my Fancy throng 
And Thought, slow-footed, plods along, 
I dream of fays among the brakes — 
And yonder where the aspen quakes 
I see a leafy waterfall ! 
And through the misty evening trees, 
Where cloud-boats float upon the breeze, 
I see a chain of limpid lakes ! 
The sky a massy seascape lies, 
The sun beyond forms fairer skies, 
Where scattered fires emplume with light! 
Then all becomes an invert crystal bowl, 
The moon glides out in silver-white — 
Wee stars grow sparkly, then the night 
Draws velvet curtains 'round my soul; 
The things I've seen slip far from sight! 

When Thought, heavy-footed, plods to jest at me 
I say, "I know it's eight P. M. — June three! 
I saw the sunset, sir, while YOU lagged on — 
I've found more facts than your slow mind may 

con ! ' ' 
But when I tell the mystic things I saw. 
Old Thought but looks at me with skeptic awe; 
And so I scarce believe I saw it all — 
The fay, the lakes, the aspen waterfall ! 



32 DIVINE FIRE 



TO A BUTTERFLY 

Soft-winged, broad-winged, gilt-winged butterfly, 
Thou floatest swiftly, gently, brightly; 
May, adrift on rainbow wing. 
Is not so fair as thou art fair. 
A-fluttering down the sun-warmed air — 
Flitting above far fields of clover. 
Like some fair flower turned gypsy rover. 
Alighting on the mist-white hedge 
All dewy bright in the morning light, 
Or pausing a moment in thy flight 
On the orchid lily's dragon lip. 
The nectar from its spur to sip ; 
Or like a fairy frigate moored 
And anchored close where the honey flows 
From the golden heart of a fragrant rose ; 
Or, unmoored, floating the sunny hours 
Above gay-tinted seas of flowers. 
Afar thou floatest, thou mystery — 
Thou magic miracle of motion. 
All day, on an airy sunlight ocean 
And then thou slip'st at shadowy even, 
Like a wandering rainbow, home to heaven. 
Thou floatest brightly, gently, swiftly — 
Thou gilt-winged, broad-winged, swift-winged 
butterfly. 



AND OTHER POEMS 33 



TO A SPIDER 

In a web like gold, a thousand-fold 

More happy sho seems than I, 
Though with toilsome fight she wove aright 

Her grass-hid home near by. 
A toiler true the long day through 

And into the dewy even 
She spun her thread and made her bed 

Far under the blue of heaven. 

O'er dew-pearled grasses the firefly passes, 

Close by her palace of lace ; 
From the green of the thicket a fiddler cricket 

Adds music ; with fairy grace 
A wild field rose a-blushing blows. 

And shakes her dainty head 
That through the night, mth sweetness, light. 

Her fragrance may be shed. 

More neighbors kind does the spider find — 

She in her world of grasses. 
Then the world of men beyond her ken, 

Where man meets man and passes. 
But I'd rather be myself than she 

In spite of human sorrow — 
She passes away, but after my day 

Closes, God gives the Morrow ! 



34 DIVINE FIRE 

CORN SONG 
(Moonrise on a cornfield in Ohio, 1909) 

The silent sky is alight with stars, 
The jet-green fields are gay with dew, 

When down on the rippling sea of com 
Moon and stars shine true — 

Tile silvery disc of a harvest moon 
^Mong sailing clouds shines true. 

Bewildering ripples of ribbons of gold, 

Shine through green shadows of rank and file 

Where on the shimmering billows of corn 
Moonlight and starlight smile — 

Over and through the waving corn 
Moonlight and starlight smile. 

The heavy breath of a languorous heart 
In gleaming mists on the corn-land lies ; 

And opiate vapors, warm and sweet, 
Up from the corn-lands rise 

The delicate odors of summer time 
Up from the corn-lands rise. 

Winds from the west woo forth as lovers, 
And stately, tasseling tops bend low; 

Ripple, ripple, ribbony ripple, 
Caressing the west wind's blow. 

Tremulous murmurs of melody marking 
The ''beat" as the west winds blow. 



AND OTHER POEMS 35 

As the diDipling of waters at sunset in glory 
Gleam with the light of the radiant sun, 

So quiver the tasseling corn-rows in glory, 
While swiftly the moon-shadows run, 

Arabesque flashings of star-gleam and shadow 
Like lights on swift waters run. 

The bountiful glow of the moon pouring down, 
And the light-flashing stars on the wind-woven 
corn — 

Oh, whence are the sources of Glory? I cry, 
How is the Beautiful born ? — 

Let there be beauty, I call to the winds — 
And in LIGHT all life's heauty is horn! 



TO A SHA^VL PATTERN 

A child, I laughed at the crook-necked squash 
design 
That graced my grandma's shawl and com- 
forters ; 
It reappeared in clothes, both coarse and fine, 
In carpetings and other things of hers. 

An artist, then, explained the old design. 
Called it a leaf of grass or bush or tree. 

But when I heard it came across the brine 
The shape appeared a dainty shell to me. 

A woman grown, I studied art design — 
A vase-form in the patterning I saw — 

I noted, too, a peacock, line by line, 
An opening bud, a flower without a flaw. 



36 DIVIStE fire 

Behold ! An isle beyond the sight of land ! 

My books tell little of this odd design, 
So old no man its source may understand — 

Its form seems flame — a flash of Fire Divine I 

The Persians worshipped Fire and this design, 
By Druids brought, was loved in Scottish lands ; 

And in this symbol a thousand thoughts combine — 
Above the ancient fires we warm our hands. 



PROGRESSION 

Fine tissues, threaded with veinings invisible, 
Flowers tower to gloiy, wither, and die nobly. 
Two sexes in them, complete in their virtue ; 
With their warm, sweet and pulsing tenderness, 
They seem to live in form as higher life. 
Tissue and texture tender, and tenuous, 
As the sweet bodies of contented loves. 
Who says that they are a loAver order than we ? 
Perhaps in some distant period we yet shall live, 
At some time future rise embodied gloriously 
In form as men — in texture as fragrant flowers. 



AND OTHER POEMS 37 



MOODS BY A NEW ENGLAND LAKE- 
EARLY EVENING 

Veiled in mystery-making, evening half-light 
Through which the crimson flame of sky, and 

crests 
Of sun-pierced mountains gleam, the valley lake 
Now lies in soft repose, its rushes, brakes 
And lilj--pads fine etched in silver fires. 
The plume-like shadow-trees, glow-tinged with 

gold; 
Mellow all till earth and sky are one 
In twilight. 

A gleam of afterglow ! 

The lake, a broad expanse of quivering copper, 
Of molten bronzes, mood-shot, bright and dull, 
Is flecked with fieiy reds, its ripple-circles 
Inlaid with gold. Behold the shadow-blues of 

skies 
Unveiled ! Behold a vagrant, purple cloud — 
A beggar-prince — peers dow^n. The waters weave 
With moods — of color, light and shade — to whims 
Of sky, and sun, and tenuous twilight air. 

The looming hills, tree-girt, sun-shot, ablaze 
With fire, possess the plain and pierce the sky. 
Suggesting hidden worlds from wooded heights 
Where gods place fires on sacred altar stones ! 



38 DIVlNE FIRE 

Upon the hills broods the serenity 
Of strength, of time, of space — a scene to yield 
Rich evidence of underlying peace 
For all that lives beneath each flood and flow, 
Each stress of storm, each mood, each whim of 
heaven. 

Life is revealed, as ever toned by moods 

Of higher rather than of lower life. 

The lake by sky ; the hills by sun direct ; 

The spurt of fern-edged spring, by snows and 

rains 
And runs that startle dank and green-rocked 

caves 
To thread the moist, black earth, to fall, to rise 
In tinkling sound and silver color, flowing. 
Then sink in deep, mysterious waterways : 
As willows sway beneath the draping vines. 
As birches, maidens, scattered in their play — 
The whole responds to moods of other life. 

One Truth is plain : no life is lived alone, 

But all are bonded fast by links of love ; 

The mood of Being, of Him whose storms may roar 

And burst their angry tumult upon earth. 

Who holds the mountains firm, the waters true ; 

Whose whims of love make paradise in truth. 

Here man, a child of Nature, liege with her 

Who gave him body, blood, may feel 

The moods which glorify the lyric scenes. 

In spirit, by the force of love, this Power 

Now casts these splendors o 'er his deeps of soul, 

And tones of flame that gleam like flaring fires 

On lake and tree-girt hills illumine him 

By law that God himself ordains as best. 



AND OTHER POEMS 39 



PIRATES 

When busy wealth of Day is set aside 

Then Pirate Clouds, dull-toned and dipping low, 

Their freightage stow in corded auric bales. 

They cover all with tarpaulins, misty gray, 

But floods of gold oft break these wind-blown 

shrouds. 
They ship — this Pirate Crew — on purple crests. 
On pearl-tone opal tides of air, they puU, 
Thus weighted, list — then press to pass — they 

seek 
For Shadow Islands fair, to hide their gains. 

This Phantom Fleet flies oft a purloined flag — 
Rich red, barred white, against a starry blue ! 
The lighthouse Sun burns low Day's lamp of red: 
The nightwatch Moon is never prone to haste. 

That gold, in packets piled, is doomed! 
That stolen wealth, in rolling bales, is lost ! 
The avenging Night, from hidden caves of dark, 
Is wheeling close above the Pirate Bands — 
Is swooping low upon the straining crews ! 
Yo ho ! The ships betw^een the ebon wings 
Now slip, now dip, and sink from mortal sight! 

Perhaps the riches, once so fair to filch. 

Are turned to idle ash for them now. 

The Sack of Rome brought wealth to crumbling 

dust: 
Barbarians ever find their conquests vain — 
There glows no gain without the Mind's true 

wealth, 
No joy without the Soul to treasure it! 



40 DIVI5TE FIRE 



Wn.D TEAZLE 

Wild teazle is like to certain characters, 

Straight-standing, as a Puritan would be : 

In impoverished and unfavored spots it thrives, 

And though it seems unbeautiful at times. 

Each tiny blossom (grown in families) 

Is exquisite in its unique loveliness. 

By thriftiness the teazle saves the rains 

In cups that range along its even stem : 

It makes the most of every little chance, 

Nobility applied to humble ways. 

Unfamed, unheralded, and oft alone, 

It reaches up to heaven's blue, direct. 

In austere dignity, in precision stern 

It reaches outward, too, but seldom crowds. 

And when the other weeds as waste are burned. 

The teazle is retained for factory use. 

It works the webs of cloth to fluffiness ; 

It serves mankind as hands could never do — 

Creates anew fair values out of woof. 

It fashions luxury effects in weaves, 

Makes soft the finest flannels for the babe, 

M)akes lovelier the blankets which we use 

On snapping, frosty nights when stairways creak. 

The teazle truly serves the race of men — 

Is like to certain types of character. 



AND OTHER POEMS 41 



THE STORM 

Silver side of poplar leaves! 

Fade-out of sky— dusky gray, with liigh lights 

golden, 
Sudden black ! 

A wind — gentle — then sinister — 
How terrible in its mighty gusts ! 
The elms tremble frantically, the lindens bend and 

bow their haughty height. 

Dead stillness — windless calm, 

Silence, breathless, pregnant with; doom. 

Not a bird in view — soft whirr of worried wings. 
The chirp of advice from some feathered mother 
huddling her young. 

Breathless, crowding, heavy air; 

Stinging silence, the Spirit of Destruction present. 

Unseen but powerful, broodingly menacing. 

Contemplative of terrors to be wrought. 

The Over-soul of Horror gloating. 

Crack ! Zoom ! The Storm ! The Storm ! 
Splitting sensations and the soundless sounds 
Too powerful for human ears — and again — ^briefly 
Silence ! 

Roaring in the distance, approaching with kettle 

drums, 
Booming, looming nearer, pulsing omniously, with 

mystic **0m!*' 
Thunder, thunder, rolling, tolling. 
Crash ! 



42 DIVINE FIRE 

Sparkles through the cloud-dense sky 
A splintering, chilling snap-snap! 
A thread of gold against the black — 
A close-up of a drenched world! 
Gone before beheld! Lightning! 

Crescendo rumblings, increasing cold, ever higher 

wind — 
Beating wind, pouring water — first splashing 

drops. 
Then floods — wet winds hammering with fists, and 

then with unsportsmanlike. 
Greedy fingers ; tearing, tramping winds, fighting, 

roistering ; 
With invisible cloaks snapping. 
Mad winds, howling insanely, fighting furiously 

again — 
Flowing — falling, crooning, shouting 
The creed of the Christless. 

Water-sodden grasses, glistening trees, 

A buffeted, torn, shaken world 

In the unbroken fury of the storm! 



I wish to die on a wald, barbaric night. 
But not to show a dauntless face to God: 
I wish to ride those awful wings of Power 
To show to MAN a Faith that's unafraid! 



AND OTHER POEMS 43 



SPRING 

. -. . ^ I 

I am clothed with tints of dawn, my mantle glint- 
ing lies 

Soft green, engirdled with gold, the sun of noon- 
day skies. 

On my head a cap of dreams, with wings like 

Mercury wore — 
On my feet the feathered boots that speed where 

oceans roar. 

In my hand the scepter, Sex, its tip a living star. 
And so I float on irised wings where lovers wait- 
ing are. 

My veil, the lace of twilight, my bag, Fortuna's 

Purse 
My beauty is just my duty, as poets sing in verse. 

But I carry the seeds of harvests, and I carry 

birth in my hand — 
I guide you forth from forests of fear to view 

the Promised Land. 



44 DI\71NE FIRE 



SUMMER 

Tap lightly the Gate of Summer to tell her you're 

glad she is here: 
Throw only a chaste young kiss, son, if you feel 

you must greet the gay dear. 
She's made herself up to be lovely, so playfully 

warn her she knows 
That men are weak in temptation and she's 

donned too beautiful clothes ! 

Remember, she's really a vampire, and her gar- 
dens are riotous rich 

Only to lead us to dreaming — this sweet and flam- 
ing young witch. 

We fall for deep looks that she gives us — for she 
flatters the children of men 

But when we feel we must keep her, she's off on 
her journeys again. 

Be careful, my son, as you tap at her Gate — re- 
member my warning! 

Your youth and your time are your riches she'll 
carry away in the morning. 

She '11 entice you the moment she sees you, so toss 
her a word and depart — 

How stupid and vain are my efforts! Already 
she 's stolen your heart ! 



AND OTHER POEMS 45 



BRONZE RELIEF 

Oh, queer little owl in the baby oak I 
Sepia toned, with beak like a curving thorn, 
That dull blazonry of moon behind, 
Buffed gold, holds you in silhouette! A bronze- 
relief! 
The shadow-brown earth is still as old age itself. 
Silent the little owl in the many-twigged branches ; 
Motionless the penny-colored leaves, curled, dead ! 
The air has frost in it, and ice. 
A few gay oak leaves, copper and crimson, 
Hang like tattered flags, faded, shell-torn. 
For the battle of the year is ending; 
And the brown-washed evening breathes chill. 
What thinks the strange wee owl in the baby oak 1 
Is the yellow light too bright for you to see 
Your way, wee creature, with unblinking eyes like 
moons? 



VIRILE WNTER 

Magnificent season, strong and young, 
Winter — gay winter — can never be old ! 

Dashing, flashing, virile, unsung 
Beauty abides in its glistening cold! 

Snows that gleam on the withering grass — 
Boisterous winds sweep over the plain — 

Roguish the snappings wherever we pass — 
Yes, winter is here again ! Again ! 



46 DIVIDE FIRE 

Silvery gleamings of magical light, 
Gardens a-sparkle, all mystic and still, 

Crystally tinklings like fairies in flight 
Rhythjnically rise from each valley and hill. 

Winter is this with its fern-fronded frost, 
And arrowy winds that bluster and blow; 

Paradise won — not a ** Paradise Lost" — 
Gaily bedecked in its diamonds of snow ! 

Winter, gay winter — can never be old — 
Hardiest, halest, most chockfull of cheer ! 

Tricks us to laugh, grow young and grow bold- 
Vividest season of all the year ! 



DANTE 



You speak of Homer, and of Milton — ^blind^ 

Who wrote the epics of the human race. 
YouVe followed men of fame among mankind 
And know the course by which each found his 
place. 
You know that each has wrought his work apart. 
That none has basked in fortune ^s favoring 
grace. 
That each has overcome some pain, some smart. 
But, as you search the saddened lines on Dante ^s 
face. 
Behold his grief the worst — a broken heart. 



AND OTHER POEMS 47 



CHIMES OF ST. PAUL'S 

Dove-like they rise from the tower in the skies, 

The notes from the Chimes of St. PauPs. 
Arching and flying, soaring and dying, 

Each melody trembles and falls. 
Visions of Heaven, loving thoughts given, 

Beauty that fairly appalls. 
In sweetness excite us, in glory delight us, 

These echoes that pierce our grim walls, 
Do\VQ in the street the medley of feet 

Are tuned to the beat of those calls, 

The w^onderful bells of St. Paul's. 

Wistful and dreaming, the crowded street teem- 
ing 

Now prays at the sound of St. Paul's. 
High from the bell tower we're told of the new 
hour, 

And harmony holds us as thralls : 
Into the spirit, where mem 'ries endear it 

This music then wonderfully calls — 
True to their master, the notes — slow or faster — 

Ride far through fancy's fair halls; 
Ever they're ringing, their messages bringing, 

These singing sweet chimes of St. Paul's, 

''Rejoice!" call the bells of St. Paul's. 



48 DIViNE FIRE 



MARCHING HOME 

Give back our arts and industries and take away 

your war: 
One century of quiet peace is better, nobler for 
Wie find no use in gore and glare and when you 

pillage, burn. 
Our hope dies out like emberlight — we hate the 

things you yearn. 
Gird us again with powers of youth. 

Return our vision of joy again — 
We are not brutes, we fought for Truth ! 

Not beasts, but living men. 

Ours the humble cottages, the garden plots and 

lanes. 
The days of work, the hours of play — and yours 

the battle gains : 
Return our skill, out strong young will, give back 

our bodies ' force 
For we must sow: and we must till and we must 

**run the course." 
Ours the sword of the Holy Writ, 

And not the sabre that flays and slays : 
Rend not the ties that time hath knit 

Give back our Golden Days. 

We seek the cadence of summer so sweet, the 

rhythmic thrum of rain, 
The perilous beauty of winter white, the dramatic 

hurricane. 



AND OTHER POEMS 49 

If not the music of forests rare, tlie melody of 

stars, 
Then just one little flower serene between the 
pasture bars. 
Arm us again with Simple Faith, 

And clothe our nakedness with Right — 
Let us behold the chimney wraith 
From cottage roofs each night. 

Spare us our sight and health and strength and 

fires that in us glow, 
And let us turn the mills of Good to help the old 

earth's woe. 
Forbid grim hours of sorrowing and let us find 

retreat 
In memories more comforting than friends we 

often meet. 
Take not our shield of perfect Trust 

Take not our staff of Hope away, 
But let our metal plough the dust 

And build a stronger way. 

War's haversack is full of woes, there's death 

upon his steel: 
His bullets strike at distant homes — and women 

ever feel 
The troubles he has brought to bear among the 

sons of men — 
What tears upon the loved ones' cheeks — how 

mothers suffer then. 
Strike not the helmet of ways-of -peace, 

Our cap of labor and crown of love : 
But let the shattering cannon cease 

And let us turn above. 



50 DIVINE FIRE 

Depart, grim war, and let us live and speed the 

arts of peace : 
By fairer means are conquests won, and if we 

would increase 
The virtues of our enemies — there 's hope for you 

and me. 
We ^11 win by wisdom and by love or vain was 

Calvary. 



THE MOTHERHOOD OF GOD 

God is love, and love reflects itself 
In all that's good. 

In happiness, in rhythmic loveliness — 
In motherhood. 

Deep pleasures come with every breath of life ; 
On every hand 

Eternity unfolds itself ; we love. 
Then understand. 

The world's athrob with rhythm, like a pulse- 
Heaven's harmony — 

The part and product of Love's motherhood. 
Oh! Praise to Thee! 



MILTON 



''They also serve who only stand and wait." 

Think not his universe was endless night. 
The dark but curtained off one world from him — 

Within were countless worlds in ceaseless light. 
The darkness, like the ravens, fed his soul. 

The silence proved a fountain of delight, 
So healing and revealing forces wrought 

And such as he shall give earth its sight. 



AND OTHER POEMS 51 



''SHIPMATES" 

Out on the ocean, wide and free, 
Unmoored, we sail away, away! 
Into our faces the tingling spray! 
Out on the bright and beckoning sea — 
Out on the troubled and treacherous sea — 

Into our faces the breeze-blown spray! 
The ruddy twilight, the twinkling night, 
Mirrored like gems on foam-crests bright; 
The moonbeams on the waters lie — 
Starbeams on the waters lie — 
Unmoored, we sail away, away! 

Out on the ocean, wild and free, 
Unmoored, we sail away, away! 
The wild, mad winds our sail now flay. 
Into our faces the stinging spray ! 
Out on the sad and storm-swept sea — 

Out on the sullen, seething sea. 

We meet at parting, you and I! 

The brutal beauty of stormy pall 

Of wind-lashed night enveloping all. 

But thus it's ordained, though we smile or sigh, 

Parting or meeting — there's music in all! 



52 DIVINE FIRE 



ANSWERED 

Why sing of the sweep of the river? 

Why praise the expanse of the plain! 
Why hark to the voices of waters, 

And rejoice in both sunshine and rain? 
And why does a ruined tower move you — 

Its gables draped dark with green moss? 
And why do you pause in your journey 

Beside some gray, weather-worn cross? 

There's the symbol of life in the river — 

Of hope in the stretch of the plain — 
Of change in the moving of waters, 

That's fraught with both pleasure and pain. 
The rusty old bells in the bell tower. 

Unshaken, yet burden the air 
With music that breathes of the ages, 

A message no sounding bells bear Y 

When my heart is fair torn with its yearning- 

With voiceless desires that arise — 
And my life is consumed with its burning, 

I see a strange earth and new skies ! 
I pause — all creation is music. 

And melody dwells in all things — 
Alike in the sunlight and starlight, 

In rains that the sobbing wind brings! 



AND OTHER POEMS 53 

The sight of a hidden grave moves me, 

So I pause with reverent breath, 
For it tells me of people I know not, 

And the end of all journeys — of death! 
And the cross on the grave has its meaning. 

For its music, like that of the bells, 
Has broken through sound into silence. 

And in silence its melody swells ! 

In the cross, in the plain, in the river, 

In the storm and the rain's plashing fall 
I learn of the love of the Giver — 

His symbols of life in it all I 
And the cross brings a symphony Nature 

Has sung since the morning stars woke; 
It gives us the music of silence 

That tuned when the Saviour's heart broke. 

The rhythm of music and motion 

Through Nature was given to man ; 
The music of death and of silence 

Blood-bought in the Infinite Plan. 
So I joy in the sweep of the river. 

Exult in the stretch of the plain — 
I rejoice that in sound and in silence 

Are music as poignant as pain ! 



54 DIVINE FIRE 



THE CUP OF BITTERNESS 

It is a beaker of iron, not deep as I thought, 
But very broad and holds the more for that. 

It is ill to drink, but the Voice proclaims that the 

gem 
Of life is in it: I make to taste, that's alh 

Bitter ! It puckers m^y throat and makes me shud- 
der, 
Grips my heart and dizzies me with sickness. 

The second swallow's worse, but I find the third 
Is not so bad — so I drink the whole of it. 

And when the cup is finished I feel elate 
And ineffable pleasure then flits towards me. 

Satisfaction fills the once so troubled heart, 
And now I love humanity and fear no thing. 

Yet I do not find the gem I suffered for, 
I am puzzled and may never understand. 

For in the bottom, still moist with recent drops, 
I see a face . . . and, lo, it is my own ! 



AND OTHER POEMS 55 



THE BRINGER-FORTH 

I am the Bringor-forth, 

The cherished cliild of God: 

My lot is limited — 
My spirit's life is broad. 

I am the one who does — 
In vineyard or in field; 

I look to harvest ripe, 
The garnering of the yield. 

I am the one who dreams — 
I plough a furrow straight; 

And I am the one who prays, 
Nor fears the frown of fate. 

On my head the frost of time, 
In my heart the song of youth; 

I am the Bringer-forth — 

And the seed I sow is Truth ! 



56 DIVIKE FIRE 



THE NIGHTMAN 

I like t' have th' black, black Nightman come, 

An^ I aren't 'fraid a-tall — 
I like t' see his circus p'rade 

Uv shadows on th' wall. 
Fer they're what the Nightman went an' made 

When the Dark swallered up th' earth an' all. 
So I jus' say, * * Fe-fi-f o-f um, " 
An' I like t' have th' Nightman come — 

Ner I ain't afraid, 

An' that's right, 

But . . . I'd ruther have m' mother 
Alwuz bring jus' th' teeniest, tiniest light! 
An* scare away th* imps o' night! 

Sometimes th' curtain's pulled away up high 

An' I look up an' see 
Th' Moon 'way, 'way up in th' sky 

A-winkin' down at me. 
It's fuiii t' see th' circus p'rade 

Uv shadows scoot frum sight — 

Ner I ain't afraid. 

An' that's right^ — 

But I'd ruther have m' mother 
Alwuz bring jus' th' teeniest, tiniest light! 
An' scare away th' imps o' night! 

But I'm jus' as brave as a soldier 'u'd be, 

Ner I never, never cry — 
But one dark night w 'en I 

Had purty near gone t' sleep, 
I had such a scare — 

I didn't darst to peep! 



AND OTHER POEMS 57 

I saw jus* th' ghostliest man — an' he 

Wuz big and long 
As he could be! 

An' I crawled into bed 

'N' piled the covers 

Right over m' head 
Till m' feet — I s'pose — peeked out t' see — 
Fer they wuz as cold 's cold could be. 

I wasn't afraid — 

Yer jus' right — 
But, Gee ! I wuz glad w 'en in came Dad 
An' scared 'at ol' Nightman away with a light! 
'Twas piles o' fun to see him skin from sight! 



REINCARNATION? 

The tree-bole's dark brown stem of strength, 

The frothing jets of green that spray 
And flutter through the sun-warmed air, 

To make for Earth a fairy day — 
This fountain burst of misting green — 

It seems I knew it years ago 
When it, a sapling, grew unseen. 

Oh, in the Light of Endless Hours 
I ought to know — the pain is keen ! 

Oh, Father, why have I forgot? 
A flow of singing dreams o'erpowers — 
I ought to know — and know it not. 



58 DIVINE PIRE 



TO MONA OUT OF WORK 

How people stare, and how the throngs 
Press close to note her searching eyes! 

And how they read her gaze amiss! 
What's this? Another dread surprise! 

The one who swore he would sustain 
The girl and help her dire distress 

Has only added greater pain 
And joined the mocking, mincing press! 

But why explain? The world has need 
Of Mona — need — ^but will not heed 
Her searching eyes, her pleading eyes — 
A little work were heaven's deed. 

Just work, to save her honor's prize! 

And so we read and read amiss — 
What's this? . . . Death? 

Death! in her pleading, searching eyes. 



AND OTHER POEMS 59 



UNITED 

I'd love to hear the ''grace" of a butterfly, 

As he breakfasts well in the heart of a flower; 
I'd like to hear a robin's lullaby, 

As she quiets her babies at twilight 's hour. 
There is no speech of ours they understand — 

There are no thoughts that we to them convey. 
Except we love the work they do for us — 

And gratitude could find no better way. 
We are as strangers from a distant land, 

And yet we have the single *'eye of day" — 
We each behold the sun and understand 

God's love is for the most and least alway. 



DRUIDS 



If I could see those stairs in carven rocks, 

The noble Druid priests ascending there — 

And hear their chanting words of praise and 

prayer — 

And see them hold the mistletoe. 

Their bearded faces humbly low. 
It would not be of value — I have a stair. 
Not carved of granite or fashioned marble white. 
But step by step I mount the way to Right: 

I need no symbol mistletoe ; 

His Guidance shows the way to go. 



60 AND OTHER POEMS 



SEEK NOT AFAR 

The tropic fruits will quench the tropic thirst — 
There is no far-off answer to our need; 

The quest of all we ask, both last and first, 
Is ours, if we but hearken well and heed. 

The mother's milk will feed the baby best, 
The father's hand will guard it best from harm ; 

We are sustained from Mother Nature 's breast- 
Why seek in distant lands for health and charm? 

The very sap within your vitals came 
To feed yourself — its power is all for you. 

There are no other ''forces" known to fame 
To serve you as yourself will always do ! 

You are the center of your universe. 
The key to all the problems that are yours; 

Declare yourself unbound by care or curse — 
Nor look to nostrums for their helps and cures. 

Divinest right you have is this : to live — 
To grow in grace and happiness, to know 

The truest way to gain is just to- give. 
For you shall reap as surely as you sow ! 



K 19 



-> 




0' 
















''• %<^^ :'MM'. %/ .'^fe'-: %.** ''•' 












"Vr 









*.yi;^;^:i;i'f^ii 










Htv/!iifi!« 



